i hate myself more than you ever could
by starchaserxonea
Summary: and the colors splash across the canvas like blood - franco-centric (mentions of franco/carly). all rights go to the creators of GH.


Franco Quartermaine isn't anyone worthy of respect or forgiveness. He doesn't deserve kindness and smiles and especially the look in _her _eyes that he's been begging for ceaselessly. He doesn't deserve anything anymore.

Slowly, he sits down on the couch in his too-nice hotel room and wishes he was anywhere else.

_**/ / /**_

"We can be mother and son, Franco," Heather's sugar-sweet voice breaks through his cocoon of _please-God-let-this-be-a-dream _and _I-can't-do-this-anymore. _And right before she's dragged away by two men lad in blue with badges adorning their chests, "You're just like me."

Like me. Like me. Like _me_.

Franco pretends and wishes that this isn't true and this is really some twisted nightmare, but her beautiful face morphs into view and those eyes shine with tears.

"Franco?" Carly says his name so hesitantly like she's scared, "Franco, talk to me."

He wants to. He really does. But he goes to open his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is earthshattering silence and Franco can't remember why he bothers anymore.

So he walks away, leaving her stunned and teary-eyed.

_**/ / /**_

Franco wanted to be a better man. He wanted to be a better person – or at least less despicable. He tried to pretend that he was a good person – that if they removed the brain tumor, he could start over. And as he stared at the white-_white _ceiling, he tried to forget the fact that he was terrible and used people and Heather – horrible, murderer _Heather _deserved a better son.

Or, at the very least, someone a mother could be proud of.

That someone wasn't him.

_**/ / / **_

The fall breeze bit against his bare arms and he hated this season. Everything was dying – the trees were giving up and the flowers were disappearing and he preferred summer. His footsteps crunched through the leaves loudly as he made his way up this grassy, headstone-dotted hill. Franco found the place he was looking for by heart and stood by it carefully, almost fearfully and watched the engraved slab of marble wearily.

"I'm sorry," he began as the wind picked up and whipped against his cheeks, "Jason."

_**/ / /**_

"You ruined _my life!" _Sam screamed at him with enough force to shake the building, "You ruined _everything! _You screwed up my marriage and my – my _everything!_" Franco didn't respond – he couldn't think of anything to say because the tears shining in her eyes were enough to tell him everything. She hated him. And she had every right to.

Silus was holding onto her arm, trying to force some calm into her through the touch alone, but Franco knew that Sam was too much of a firecracker to be put down so easily.

And he opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't figure out what to say. There wasn't any apology that he could offer that he hasn't already said or would make a difference. He deserved no forgiveness.

His mouth stayed shut.

_**/ / /**_

The door opened slowly and he stayed still on the couch, "Go away, Diane, please."

"It's not Diane," that beautiful voice – the one he could recognize anywhere – came floating through the room and he forced himself to stay stone-still, frozen.

"Carly." He whispered her name like a mantra – it'd become very significant to him recently and he hated it as much as he loved it. Similar to how he felt about that saffron-haired woman in his doorway that he was refusing to face just yet.

His door shut softly, but its closing was like a gunshot in the room. Her heels clicked against the hardwood harshly and he felt her drawing closer.

"Franco…" she began softly and hesitantly, and it was infuriating. Carly was brazen and loud. Not timid. "I can't even imagine…"

"Just stop pretending," the harsh words were flying from his lips before he could stop it, "Just _stop pretending you care, _Carly." His feet were touching the ground and he was standing at full height in the manner of seconds. Franco couldn't do this anymore.

She got that cute, angry look that he loved so much and placed her hand on her hip, "Ex_cuse _me?"

"You heard me," he was so mad, so _angry _at everything. He moved around to the back of the couch and began pacing, occasionally glancing at her with blazing eyes, "You keep – you keep doing _this. _Pissed at me one second and-and trying to console me the next – dammit, just-," he took a breath and stopped in his tracks, giving her his full attention with fiery eyes.

"Just stop this."

Her eyebrows scrunched together and she became unexpectedly sympathetic – she started to unexpectedly _pity _him because her hand left her hip and her face softened considerably. No, Carly doesn't pity people. She yells at them.

"Franco…"

"No," he ran two hands through his haphazard hair and let out a pained laugh, "just no, Carly. I'll get my stuff – you can have your room back."

He left to pack his stuff, once more leaving her shell-shocked and saddened.

_**/ / /**_

A backpack was hanging off of his shoulder and he hated this place. The sounds of waves were crashing against the docks and he hated this place so goddamn much. Because Jason was killed right there and Sam's livid eyes flashed in his mind and he hated this fucking place too much to be considered healthy.

It smelled strongly of sea salt here and he hated the scent – it was too closely linked to blood in his mind. Franco knelt down and unzipped his backpack, letting him see the last of his belongings and the last of his paintings. He created it the night before the showing and it depicted the only inspiration he's ever had.

The only painting he's ever been proud of.

Her hair was captured just right and her skin tone was the precise shade and she looked happy in this. Smiling. The only painting of his he's ever loved… and it's of her.

Carly.

And with tired eyes and weary hands, he threw the colored canvas in the water, letting the sea eat it alive.

_**/ / /**_

Franco is nobody. He isn't worthy of forgiveness or happiness or smiles and he wishes he could forget all of the terrible atrocities he's committed, but that would be an injustice to the people he's hurt, so instead he'll just live with the guilt as best as he can and pretend that maybe – _just maybe – _one day he'll be happy.

But he'll live with knowing that that'll never happen.

_**/ / /**_

"_You're just like me."_

He wishes that wasn't true.

**_/ / /_**

_so. tried something besides fairy tail. did it work? i dont think so._

_whatever. i just had bad franco feels and felt the need to blow them up. so thanks for reading._


End file.
